I Need You
by Please submit your
Summary: There have been recent, brutal killings around Dartmouth's campus, and the BAU team has to get to the bottom of it, fast; especially since one of their own now has a personal stake: Isabella Swan. The love of his life. -Eventual Reid/Bella & Lemons :D
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Alright, here's a crossover! It will eventually be a Bella/Spencer pairing. So, yeah, here you go. I hope you like it! Sorry I didn't check it over—I simply don't have time. Maybe you can tell me any mistakes? It is my first story after all! Thanks so much for reading! :)_

She walked down the wet cement, sighing and running a hand through her brown ringlets, bouncing in the cool air. It was in the middle of her first year here at college, and she was still so unsure of what she wanted to major in. She was currently just wavering around in a few places, staying grounded with her main, required courses. She had no idea what to do, but, of course, dither.

It was all still a haze to her, anyway. A blurry nothingness—void of emotion. She was better, but nowhere near healed. She simply floated and dreamed through her life, wishing that any moments of unoccupied time didn't come to her. Moments like now, when she couldn't help but think of steely golden eyes killing her with harsh words. His looks were sharp, his mind even sharper, but his tongue had cut her the deepest.

She licked her lips, brown eyes scanning the empty campus. It was too early in the morning, an hour no one was willing to venture out at, what with the recent killings. But she found that she didn't care—she'd rather the murderer find her and end it. She wouldn't protest.

And then, suddenly, her books, seemingly of their own accord, tumbled to the ground with thwacks and thumps and plops. She sighed and blushed, looking around to see no one had witnessed her loss of balance. Gravity hated her.

She bent and didn't feel the dampness seep into her pants and onto her knees, gathering them slowly and reading the titles, checking the spines and dusting the pages. If it kept her busy, she would do it.

She looked behind her as she rose to her feet again, stumbling once before regaining her original pace. She focused on her feet. _Step. Step. Step._

She made it to her class on time, barely. She managed to snag a seat in the back, even. But the moment her things were down and organized, her professor called her to the front of the room. The class fell silent like kindergarteners, watching her every move as she slithered forward, trying to somehow fall into the floor. Her cheeks were burning. Her eyes were downcast.

She hated attention.

She reached the podium and her instructor leaned over, his spicy cologne making her hold in a sharp breath. "Miss Swan, you will be switching classes. Follow these directions."

She nodded, accepting the information easily. She didn't have to question anything.

"Okay. Thank you, sir," she said. Turning on her heel, she walked up the aisle and grabbed her books, hugging them to her chest with one arm and holding the directions in the other. She stared down at them as she made her way away from the class and toward her new one. She was slightly curious as to why she was being moved—she didn't even know they could do that to you in college—but she didn't complain. She didn't need to.

She stared at the paper until she looked up and saw the door to her next class. It was absolutely silent within. Nervously, she opened the door and peeked inside, to see a few people glance up at her, but most continued to take notes on the quiet movie rolling on the screen. She darted to the desk where a younger man sat—maybe his late twenties, early thirties—scribbling a grade in red pen on a paper.

She cleared her throat lightly, sticking out the sheet of paper as he looked up through his glasses. His brow furrowed as he slowly took them off and set them to the side, reading the small note and setting it down. He looked in his drawer for a clipboard, finding it and slipping it to her with a pen. A seating chart.

She sighed in an almost dejected way, scribbling her name in a back seat that was empty and also surrounded by two other empty seats. She handed the pen and the board to him, and attempted a smile as he said, "Thank you." It turned more into a grimace.

Surprisingly, he winced slightly.

"Bad break up?" he asked, seeming sympathetic. She looked at him, slight surprise showing in her empty brown eyes. He could see the obvious void—the scar left there. She stared at him for a moment, her eyes widened, before they darkened.

"You have no idea," she sighed, adjusting her books and breaking their eye contact. The video droned behind her. His eyes looked pitying, and she found a twinge of anger within her. She disliked pity so much—she had been smothered with it after they had left.

"I understand," he said. "Been rejected…a lot. I'm here for ya." She nodded, looked up once, and looked away, walking back to her seat. The video finished behind her, something akin to elevator music playing as the credits rolled. She sat in the back as the professor got up and flipped on a light. He paced in front of the room, looking at her.

"Well class, I'd like to welcome a Miss Isabella Swan. And I'll sum it up—we just watched a video detailing different religions. I'd like you to write me a four page report, no more no less, of your religion, opinion on other religions, and mindset. You know, the works. Remember debate class? Basically the same thing—I'll read them over and give you a grade, and then you'll be matched with someone who shares the opposite opinion, and duke it out right here." He motioned to two podiums set up in the front of the room, before wheeling the projector away.

"Dismissed," he said from within the closet where she could hear things clanking around.

She slowly gathered her things together and began to head for her professor. He came out of the closet, wiping his hands on his pants, and looked up at her. "Yes, Isabella?"

"I…" she hadn't the heart anymore to correct anyone on her name. "How did you know? Just now?"

He smiled gently, walking past her to his desk, grabbing a suitcase and his coat. "I could see it in your eyes. Like I said—and this is embarrassing—but I've got my fair share of experience in that field. But look, it's high time I got to lunch and you did your…student things." He smiled and slipped his coat on, coming back over and shutting the closet door. She followed him out the building, and he waved, getting into a rather nice car and pulling out, driving down the road and away.

She shook her head, still wondering how he had had an inkling of what she had felt—what she had been thinking. It was the strangest.

She sighed again and set off toward her dorm.

He leaned over and passed out the different coffees. "Thanks, Spence," each person would say as they received theirs. He only nodded and smiled slightly, bringing the remaining one to himself and sitting back as Gideon stood up at the front of the small table they had all gathered around. He took a sip and squinted at the various pictures lined up behind him—young, brunette females, bruised, battered, and naked, all in some open, field-like area.

"Well, team; we've got a bit of a problem down in Hanover, New Hampshire." Spencer processed this quickly, taking a sharp look back at the girls. They were all around eighteen to twenty. Did it have anything to do with the local Ivy League college, Dartmouth?

"At Dartmouth," so he was right, "there have been recent, brutal killings. All young, rather attractive females, between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two. They all have the same M.O. They've been raped, murdered, and…strangely, their left ring finger has been cut off, and not found." He pointed to each picture, and Spencer just noticed the gap on each left hand. He nodded, looking down at the empty folder he had in his hand.

"Do you think it was a wife, then?" Elle asked, looking at the pictures of the women intently.

"Most likely some kind of relationship," Gideon decided after a moment. "The local PD has decided that, since there have been eight and no leads, they'd bring in the BAU. But this guy's clean—no fingerprints, DNA of any kind, murder weapon, nothing. So I'm thinking we'll have to get a guy inside and watch the students themselves. I've taken a look at this case, and given the brutality of each kill and the looks of each victim—"

"Revenge," Spencer didn't mean to interrupt, but he did. Everyone nodded, glancing back at him for a moment before returning their attention to Gideon.

"Correct," Gideon paced, putting a finger in the air. "And the rape suggests that, besides our unsub being male, it was a woman he had sexual relations with, and now, she's done something to…anger him. So," he made a gesture to the pictures behind him, pausing with a far off look in his eye, "he takes it out on these girls," he finished.

Spencer furrowed his brow, leaning forward in his chair with his hand under his chin. "But if he rapes them, and there's been eight victims, how has there been no DNA found, whatsoever?"

"I thought that too," Gideon said, "but turns out…" He paused and turned around, rifling through a folder near him before pulling out a small piece of paper. "Condoms, paper bags, and knives can go a long way. There's some residue from the condoms, pieces of plastic from bags, and he actually carved out the delicate tissue within each woman, disposing of it and leaving us with nothing." Gideon closed the folder quickly, setting it aside.

"This guy knows what he's doing," Morgan commented. The team murmured an agreement.

"Sicko," Garcia said with a disgusted look on her face. She was looking at each woman in slight sympathy, before she turned to Gideon. "How do we catch the bastard?"

"Well," Gideon said, looking back at the pictures behind him, "there's a few things we've got to think about first. As always, what would the unsub gain from doing all this?" He looked at the team in silence, as he often did, expecting an answer. Spencer guessed that this was his way of teaching them—letting them solve the case. Guiding them.

What could the unsub gain from these acts? Most likely it was some form of sadistic, sexual pleasure. But it could be anything—he had learned that in his time here. It could be a religious cult, or maybe…something else. He couldn't think right now. He sighed and took a large drink of his coffee, hoping to restart his mind.

"Most likely some form of sexual pleasure—from the actual rape, I suppose," he offered after a while of silence.

"Yes," Gideon said, nodding, "But why would he derive sexual pleasure from this?"

"Maybe he's just sadistic," Morgan said, making vague gesture to indicate he was lost. Spencer thought hard, but didn't have much to go on. He looked down at the desk, where there was already a file sitting under where he had rested his coffee. He moved the cup and grabbed the folder, opening it and reading the information at an absurdly fast rate. He looked up at the team.

"It says here that…the victims were reported missing five days before their body was found." He looked up to see Morgan reading something with a confused look on his face.

"That's weird. The forensics say that the time of death was quite close to the time the body was found. That means there was…ah…around four to five days between the actual death and kidnapping." He looked up.

"Time to torture them?" Gideon looked out at the team, as if asking if he was right. Spencer looked down at his sheet.

"But based on the coloring of the bruises," Hotch began, flipping through his folder, "they were relatively new. As in, mere hours old. What would he be doing in all that time?" Everyone shook their heads.

A few moments of silence passed as everyone receded into their own thoughts. Gideon broke it, "Alright team. Well, I need you all to go pack. Garcia, be ready for us—we're gonna leave and get everything figured out on the jet. Sound good?" They nodded almost in unison, before going their separate ways. Spencer was the last out. He looked back at the now clear whiteboard, before shutting off the light and closing the door, heading home to pack.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Whoo! So I got the chapter out, I am proud of me. It's not totally awesome, but it's not totally crappy either. That means something, at least. :P Well, not much to say about this one. They meet, talk a bit. Please tell me if I captured their combined awkwardness, although Bella is kinda on the OOC side. I just imagine her a bit rougher and more sarcastic because there is no Edward to fawn over. *gags a bit*_

_So, I'm hoping I did well. You'll tell me, right? I'd love to ease my insecurities, lol._

_Anyway, I hope you like this chapter._

Spencer looked at the team, all reading their various files on the case awaiting them. Minutes passed, and he simply looked out the window, already having read his own multiple times. There wasn't much to any of them, though, since there wasn't much about the killer or his behavior. Only that he was brutal and merciless in what he did. He obviously held a deep loathing for whoever had wronged him in his past, and there was no doubt in his mind that the killer was more than a bit unstable. From experience, he could guess that something had made him simply snap one day.

The killings were spread over Hanover, and yet seemed to gravitate to the Dartmouth campus. Which meant that, since most killers stay in their own vicinity, they could probably find him there. It was already decided that two agents would go in together, undercover, and act as if they were normal college students. And Spencer, the "baby" of the team, had no doubt in his mind he would be sent in. Yet he still hoped for his lost cause that he wouldn't have to experience the hell that was college again. Sure, he was now grown, no longer a mere young teenager, if that, but still. He wasn't anywhere near the strongest or most fluent in conversation. Every interaction he had that wasn't with friends was stunted and awkward.

He looked up as Gideon addressed the team again. "Well, I've decided to send two in, as you all know. Who should go? Keep in mind we need someone with a good memory, young-looking, and intelligent enough to pass the courses without getting distracted." Spencer frowned in utter dismay as every head silently and simultaneously turned eyes on him.

"But, I could be of more use—" And he knew, by the look in Gideon's eyes—the almost amused twinkle at his suffering, that he could argue, but it would do no good.

He sighed angrily, rolling his eyes, and moving onto a question of more relevance. "Who's going with me?"

"Well," Gideon shrugged, raising his eyebrows, "Now we need someone also rather young, who would have the intimidation factor, and the strength to go on any unexpected chases. And preferably someone charismatic, so we could have someone in with the crowd and the gossip." The same thing happened to Morgan, as it was obvious who fit the bill there.

He smirked, "I can deal with that. College chicks, here I come." Elle rolled her eyes, but aside from that, no one reacted to his bluntness, as he was like that daily. Spencer turned to Gideon, knowing that his fate was sealed.

"Do we go talk to the dean when we get there, or…?" He furrowed his brow, confused.

Gideon shook his head. "Garcia conveniently provided me with the dean's number before we left, and it's already arranged. You'll both simply go by your very same names, as they are both rather common. And, of course, if anyone asks, you deny your involvement with the FBI. So, while JJ, Hotch, Elle, and I head to the hotel nearby, you'll go straight to your dorms. Now, we've got a bit more of a flight, so I suggest some rest."

With that, Spencer sat back and allowed himself to shut his eyes.

When he awoke, groggy and confused, they made their way hurriedly out of the private terminal with their bags, leaving the airport behind. They had two black, nondescript cars awaiting them just outside. Spencer and Morgan—Derek, now, it seemed—got into one and separated from the rest of the team in the other.

He barely registered anything as Derek talked to someone behind a desk, they were handed sheets of paper, and he was being dragged through a parking lot and doors, upstairs, and then he was in their room. He saw a bed, looked at it for just a moment, before dropping his bags next to it, followed by himself. The mattress sighed under him as he fell asleep, listening to Morgan—Derek—do the same.

When he awoke, he was suddenly so aware of the fact that he was undercover, on a mission, looking for a sick, cold-blooded killer that most likely lurked the Dartmouth campus. He jumped from bed, looking around in a disgruntled way, wondering why he was in a simple, informal t-shirt and sweatpants. Had he changed during the night? He didn't remember doing so before he passed out without reading his class schedule.

And that was when he had the presence of mind to actually look at the thing, and instantly regretted it. His luck that his first class would be today, at noon. He looked at the convenient clock ticking away above the television in his dorm, and huffed angrily, going to his bags to get ready. He would need to be there in an hour, and that didn't count how long it may take him to find it in the first place. He, out of compulsion, picked up a crumpled piece of paper and by habit read it as he moved. Derek had the same class at the same time, oddly enough.

He went over and shook him, startling him upright and fully awake. But when he found no threat, he looked at Spencer in a confused, dazed way. "Wuh?"

Spencer rolled his eyes and went to his bags, grabbing the normal looking jeans and t-shirt he had packed before, when he had known he would be one person going undercover. Gideon had taught him to always be prepared, and he was. If he consistently did laundry, he should have enough clothes to look like a normal, inconspicuous college student. "We have a class in an hour, together. I'm going to get dressed in the bathroom." And then he did so, closing the door behind him and stripping fast, pulling on his clothes and looking at himself in the mirror. He looked rather normal, which was good.

Blending was key.

As he walked out, his hair brushed, hands washed, and face shaved, he heard the cell phone ring. Derek grumbled for him to get it as he rushed into the bathroom, the water running as he groomed himself. Spencer went to the table in the middle of the dorm, grabbing it and putting it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Spencer," Gideon addressed him. "That's what you'll go by. Derek will go by his first name also. You've got a class soon, by the way. The only class you share, I think. I wanted to make sure you were up in time."

"Thanks, we are. We'll make sure we go by our first names." He nodded and silently listened to the basic instructions, which detailed not letting their cover slip, as the killer could be anywhere. They exchanged simple goodbyes and hung up, Derek walking out on cue. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Spencer's apparel strangely.

"I didn't even know you _owned_ clothes your age," he mumbled to him. Spencer rolled his eyes as Derek sighed. "So, what was the call about?"

Spencer and Derek both grabbed their bags of notebooks and assorted textbooks Gideon had provided them with on the plane as he answered.

"Basically, Gideon wanted to remind us that we shouldn't blow our cover, only go by first names, even to each other, and tell us we had class soon." Derek nodded, grabbing his key to the room off the same table. Spencer mirrored his action, stuffing his own in his pocket, and following Derek out the door. He shut and locked it before following a small map of the campus to the building they needed to be in just minutes before their class was due to start. He walked in and looked around, finding only two empty seats, next to an equally empty girl.

Their eyes locked for a brief moment.

Dark, deep, chocolate brown swirled with a small curiosity as she locked eyes with him, a tall, lanky boy that put a pang in her heart as she had a brief flash of her once best friend's husband. Although he had been more muscled, this boy was shaped in the same way. She bit her lip at the intense throbbing along the edges of her broken heart, looking away from him as he looked up at her professor.

They spoke quietly before said professor pulled out the clipboard from before, handing it to him nonchalantly, and then discretely glancing up at her. She shook off the strange look he gave her, looking around for empty seats. The boy passed the clipboard over, apparently having decided where he would sit.

Panicked, she searched frantically. But there were two seats that were available, and both were on either side of her. She groaned under her breath, shifting her bag from the chair next to her to under her feet, leaning her head on her hands and sighing as the boys awkwardly made their way up the steps. Or, the first one did. The second smiled in a devilish way, glancing around at every pretty girl in the room as he walked past.

And then they were at her row, heading down and closing in. She watched the second, dark skinned man raise an eyebrow at her, but she paid no attention, listening to the quiet shuffle of the other boy as he moved behind her and sat next to her. They were both settled when the professor locked eyes with her, a small smile on his face, and began to explain about the project again. It was simply about religion and her personal view on it—still, she took out her pen and notebook, copying quick, scribbled notes.

She furrowed her brow when she watched the darker one on her left—Derek, as he had told the pretty, blushing girl in front of him—reach for his bag, but shrug and stop, leaning on his hand and dazing through the class. The other boy simply watched the professor talk intently, before finally looking around the class a bit. She continued to take notes as a movie rolled, a continuation of religions, origins, and further things. She never took her eyes from the stiff boys next to her, and never relaxed her tense muscles.

Finally, they were dismissed. She did let herself sigh quietly, gathering her things much faster than normal, and rushing from the class. She held all her books in one arm and ran her free hand through her hair. She looked behind her, and there was the boy—the skinnier, taller one. She rolled her eyes as he looked down at the little map he was holding, walking fast. In fact, he was walking a bit too fast—she didn't realize how close he was until a shockwave ran through her and her things were on the ground. She, of course, fell over, bringing him with her.

Side by side, they had caught themselves on their elbows. She was panting with the adrenaline rushing through her system—he jumped up quickly, holding out his hand for her to grab. She blushed slightly, taking it and allowing him to pull her up. "I'm sorry," he blurted awkwardly, before reaching down for her things. She felt a small tingle in her hand—she looked at it strangely for a moment, before bending and gathering what he hadn't yet. He handed her the rest, grabbed his bag, and they stood a few feet apart.

"Erm…don't worry. I tend to meet a lot of people this way. And, well, I should be sorry," she said softly, glancing at her hand. Why did it tingle so? She shook the thought away and looked at him, regaining her normal numbness. "I'm very clumsy, so it was me that made us fall."

He laughed slightly, looking at the crowd by a nearby building as he answered. "No, no, I should have been watching. My fault."

She smiled, just a bit genuinely, at someone that was amazingly like herself. "I'm Bella. I was in your last class."

He looked up at her, and she tore her eyes from his. "I'm Spencer. And yeah—I sit next to you." She laughed half-heartedly.

"That you do." Awkward silence descended, and she picked at one of her fingernails a moment, bit her lip, and then finally found something to say.

"So, um, where are you going now?" He simply handed her the map he had been holding, and she gazed at it with a grim satisfaction. Because it just figured.

"I'll…well, I'll take you there. And you'll sit next to me, because yet again, that's the only open seat," she deadpanned, before turning on her heel and walking again. She adjusted her things nervously as he caught up to her in two long strides.

"Do you like sitting alone?" he asked, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

She glanced at him a moment. Then she looked forward and slowed her pace a bit, cocking her head. "Yeah. Yeah, I definitely do. New people, crowds, that type of stuff…well, it's awkward and I can't do it well. Like talking to you, well, I know what's going to happen." She figured she might as well be truthful.

His brows furrowed. "And what's that?"

She smirked, no trace of mirth in her eyes. "I'll say something so pathetically stupid that we'll be surrounded by this huge, awkward silence until we get there. And then it'll be weirder, sitting next to each other and still hearing crickets." He laughed a bit, and she looked over at him curiously.

"That's…well, that happens to me a lot, Bella. I understand." And that was when she had no response but to nod and smile, the silence a bit less awkward than she expected, but not comfortable as they turned the corner and walked over to the correct building. Spencer held the door for her and she blushed just a bit again. She was no longer able to brighten like she had before.

She sighed angrily at her thoughts, leading to places she didn't want to bother with right now. Soon she would, but not now.

She left Spencer at the podium in front of her professor, who openly hit on him as she handed him the seating chart. She ignored everything as she watched the video—not that she needed to. Spencer didn't address her once.

When the video was over, the professor was writing quick notes on the whiteboard, and she couldn't help but notice Spencer's lack of notes again. She shrugged and copied hers quickly, the teacher dismissing them after she passed out a copy of Shakespearean poems. She told the class to read the first three poems before next class, and take down their point of view and what they thought it meant.

The class was dismissed and Bella was surprised at such a light workload, but definitely didn't complain. She looked over at Spencer, who simply grabbed his untouched bag and slung it over his back. She put her things away, standing up, and didn't look at him as she voiced her questions. "Why is it you don't seem to take notes?"

He started, looking at her a moment before seeming to realize she was addressing him and expecting an answer. "I have a good memory. Um, why do you ask?"

She shrugged. "Curious, I guess. Which is weird, because I never am anymore." She looked up, throwing her bag over her back, and smiling tightly at him. A blush colored his cheeks slightly, and she didn't comment as she turned on her heel and walked away, out the classroom. Spencer looked after her a moment, before sighing and walking out of the room. He headed to his dorm slowly, looking at the cement under his tennis shoes as he made it to the room he shared with Morgan. He had another class later on, but there was plenty of time until then. What would he do with _nothing_ to do?

He sighed again as he walked through the door, looking around. Morgan—well, Derek. He would have to get used to calling him that. He wasn't there yet, so Spencer went over to his bag. He looked through his books—he had read them all, of course, but he always turned to them when bored. But he didn't want to this time—especially because this was a college—University, even. There had to be numerous bookstores around.

He decided to walk, because not only did he not want to waste gas, but he would have to get used to these normal clothes and shoes. He locked the door behind him, walking down the stairs and out the door of the building, sticking to the sidewalks and simply looking around. He would find something eventually.

Finally there was a large, pastel sign that had a book flipped open. On the open pages it said _The Page Palace_. He could only figure they sold books, so he walked through the door and looked around. A woman was reading a book, her face hidden behind long, mahogany hair. He decided to just peruse the shelves, reading each name and picking a few. Of course he grabbed _Pride and Prejudice_, _Wuthering Heights_, and the book he had lost not too long ago, _Dianetics. _He decided upon various other books, before bringing his small pile to the front where the woman looked up, and he was face to face with her again.

Her face scrunched in the cutest way, and he found himself swallowing any stupid words that may have come out. He would let her speak first.

She smiled sarcastically. "Hey. Long time no see." She tucked her hair behind her ear, shoving the book away, and put both hands on the counter. "Let's see what you've got."

He cleared his throat and nodded dumbly, glancing at the back of the books for the prices and adding in tax, pulling out the exact amount quickly. She finished ringing them up and looked at him. "Six—" He passed her the bills. She looked down at them, brow furrowed, and began to count. A moment later, her eyebrows shot up. "Wow. Exact. You are good. Here, I'll get you a bag."

She walked to a small pile of paper bags, bending over and trying to get one for him, but she was obviously having trouble. Though he wasn't able to look for long, because he was a man and she was undeniably beautiful—he glanced away, thinking of math. Algebra. Zebras.

She came back and he looked back at her, his cheeks burning. Though, he managed a smile. "Thank—um, thanks. Have a nice day." She giggled, mumbling something about that being her line, but he left with haste.

_Oh yeah, I forgot to thank all of you for your comments and encouragements, they do really mean a lot to me! I felt so happy and my heart skipped a beat every time I read them. And also, I forgot to mention that I own neither Spencer, Bella, Twilight, or Criminal Minds, or any of those awesome things that I covet. Poor me. :'(_

_Anyway, I do hope you review, as without them, I would have such a hard time continuing, lol. But any suggestions are very welcomed here. :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Hello! Yay! A new chapter! :D But here's the deal—it has been brought to my attention (thank you to angel1549, for telling me this. I'm forever grateful) that there was an episode in NCIS where the murders were a lot like this one. But I can assure you I'd never seen that before and don't intend to copy off of it in any way—it was merely a coincidence. And also, to ImmortalDarkPassion: She isn't sure what she wants to major in yet, so she's just taking the basic courses And so are Derek and Spencer because they aren't going to be staying long enough to finish college. But I don't really want to detail too much on the classes because they're not very important, lol. I hope this helps clear things up a bit. :)_

_Anyway, I also wanna mention I didn't go to Dartmouth, so I may get things wrong. I'm researching, but not much is coming up for some reason :( Damn my crappy computer. Anyway, another thing is that I doubt The Page Palace actually exists, and the café mentioned in this chapter most likely doesn't either. I made them up, lol._

_Now, moving on, I hope you like the story and I'm thankful for all the reviews I have and will get. They make my day and help me keep writing! So, I hope you like what you get here, even though there's not much happiness in this chapter._

She smiled without any humor or mirth as she closed up the shop, locking the door and looking around the darkened streets behind her. Her truck gleamed in the distance, the bulbous cab just a shadow. She looked through the windows, seeing the codes set and the bars locked, the open sign off, and everything in order. Then, she turned around, taking off her green apron, and folding it as she made her way toward the truck.

She got in and started it up, a tear falling on the steering wheel as she leaned forward, her forehead against the cool, old leather. But then she shivered, reached over, and turned the heat on. The blast of air on her face—not quite warm yet—shook her from her dangerous thoughts and she sighed, wrenching the truck in gear and pulling out with a loud rumble. She stopped at a local drive-thru, ordering the nastiest tasting black coffee, and set off on the highway.

The ride was both long and torturous, left alone with her thoughts and memories, but too short in her opinion. She would take her own mind thousands of years over rather than the proof she was about to get. The one cold slab of granite that meant it was all real.

She got out of the truck, the little sun poking through the gray clouds to her east, and moved forward on her legs of lead. Each step drew her closer, until she opened the heavy black gates with the longest, loudest creak of her life. Then she ambled forward down the road, preferring to walk through the trees and autumn leaves, shivering. But finally, she felt it, and looked to her right. Down a few rows, up one, and there she was, face to face with the worst part of her reality.

Two stones, side by side, cold and hard. Two names, two birthdates, and the same death carved into each. She fell onto her knees, hugging her father's stone, and sobbing. They were both gone, because of her no less. "Mom…Dad…I'm so sorry…I should have died…I should've…" But there was nothing for her to say. She was dead, and had been since. Death couldn't claim a zombie.

That day, seeing Phil show up hours after her parents were supposed to, she knew something was wrong. The look of him, red-faced, tear-stained, unshaven, was terrible. A mess, he had sagged against her and cried like a frightened child. He had loved Renee with all he had, and now she was gone. His shaky, broken explanation was something she had never dreamed of happening. Not to her. Not now.

"_I…I got the call…the damn plane crashed…no one survived…Bella…God, I'm so sorry…" he had whispered, and she slumped backward. They were sprawled in her front hall, a storm raging in the distance behind them. She held him, shushed him, and felt everything leave her body. Every will and hope and lingering emotion whooshed out with her breath, her own mind refusing to believe what he was telling her._

"_I…it didn't even get a mile away…I drove like a maniac…why now? Why this?" he continued into her shoulder, and she just let him cry, sinking into her own mind. Her father, leaving to get her mother, had perished. Both of them. He had gone to Jacksonville to ask her in person, show her pictures of what their daughter had become. He had gone to help her, and ask her mother to take her to heal away from the memories. And here she was, finding out that on this quest, they gave their lives._

_Why couldn't death have taken her? Simply finished what it started? Why couldn't life be fair for once? But no, they were gone. And it was all her fault._

"Bella." She snapped from her memories, her sobbing reduced to silent tears, and turned around. Russet skin and a cold demeanor, Jacob stood there. But his eyes and face melted when he saw her.

"Jake," she whispered back, knowing he could hear her. "Where's…?"

"Carmen," he finished for her. Silently, he sat next to her, bringing her to his warm chest, and cradling her as she had for a hysteric Phil. "She didn't want to come. She understands now that you and I are just friends, and she didn't want to ruin the moment. She knows better than most that you need to grieve with only those you are close to. And she was a serious bitch to you, so she knew she didn't have a right."

"Oh," she sighed back. Carmen was Jacob's imprint, a girl he had found alone and broken after a local house fire. He had told her how on his patrol he had smelled the smoke and checked for any vampires. And when he saw her, he phased back to a human, unable to think of anything but her. The story—and the girl, admittedly—was beautiful. But Carmen had hated Bella for a long time, resenting Bella's dependence on Jacob. So they never talked, and Bella had a feeling Carmen was happy when she left for college.

"She didn't have to do that," she continued. "I understand her feelings, and I know it hurts you guys to be away from each other."

Jacob continued to rock her back and forth, but shook his head. She pulled from him, calmer now, and regained her mask of control. But some of her true self shown through, Jacob here to distract her. "Thanks, but really Bella, I agree with Carmen. I wasn't even sure if you would want me here."

She sighed and shook her head. "I am. It's great to see you, especially because I only came here for this. I hope you tell Billy I said hello, but I've gotta go. I need to study." Her voice cracked and broke as she looked toward the stones, running her mother's, "And I wouldn't be able to stand being here any longer than necessary. When Phil comes around, tell him I love him and to be well." She saw Jake nod from the corner of her blurry eye, and she swiped at her nose, rising. But before she could walk to her truck, Jake caught her wrist.

"Why won't you tell anyone your home number Bella? I know there's no way you don't have a phone. Phil sends you letters and money all the time. And he says you only ever write thank you. What's with you? Why can't you keep in contact? _Why can't we ever see you?_" He looked almost angry.

She ripped her wrist from his grasp, smiling sadly at him. "Because you wouldn't like what you saw." And she shuffled away, leaving him fairly stunned. She would have a long way back to Hanover.

Spencer shuffled through the files. He looked up at Gideon, who was looking at the rest of them. Silence rung in the room, as everyone processed that yet another girl was missing, on their watch. He almost felt slightly responsible, but didn't comment. Finally, after what felt like forever, Gideon spoke. "Her name is Isabella." He sucked in a breath for a reason unknown to him. "Isabella Carter. She's petite, has brown hair and blue eyes, the usual. She's twenty, and her birthday is in a week. Our goal, of course, is to get her back in time to see it."

Gideon was silent as he hung pictures of a sidewalk, with books and papers strewn around, along with just a bit of blood. "The blood is hers, as well as all the materials. It's obvious there was a fight, but we think he knocked her head against the ground here," he pointed to the largest pool of blood, "and dragged her off." A small trail of blood lead away from the puddle.

Derek looked around. "Any chances I can get to the scene?" Hotch nodded and jingled his keys.

"I was going to take you there." He was about to get up when the door to their room burst open, and JJ, panting, grabbed the remote to the television. She turned it on, a frustrated look on her face, and the news filled the room; immediately, the pictures that were lined up on the whiteboard in front of them flashed onto the screen. She left it on only for a moment, and then shut it off.

"People are in an uproar," she started. "This is the ninth kidnapping and they're all terrified. I've managed to calm them down, some, reassuring them that the FBI is on the case now, but there was only so much I could do in that department. And these pictures…" she waved vaguely at them, "I don't know how they got released to the public. We haven't, and the sheriff swears his men are loyal. Who could our leak be?" She sighed angrily, dropping onto an empty chair.

Spencer locked his jaw, thinking, trying to remember every officer he had seen this morning as he walked into the station. None had looked guilty or worried, or showed any body language to suggest they were hiding something. So it had to be someone on a different shift—the one when the kidnapping was discovered. But who?

He opened his mouth to say something and then shut it again. He didn't have any answers or clues, and that unnerved him. All he could do was ask questions. "Has he slipped up? Was there any DNA of his?"

Gideon sighed and sat down slowly. "We're not sure yet, of course, but so far no unknown DNA was found. We've got nothing besides an empty space where this girl should be."

There was more silence in which no one looked at anyone else. Finally, Gideon turned to Derek. "Before you leave, call and see if Garcia has any ideas." Derek's head snapped up and he looked dazed. It was obvious both he and Hotch had forgotten they were leaving. He pulled out his phone, nodding, and hit a number before bringing it to his ear.

"Hey baby-doll…yeah, I missed you too…uh-huh…you're the bomb, I know…got anything, though? Any Ideas?" Derek rolled his eyes and glanced at his watch. "I think we safely deduced that there's a psychopathic creep running around. Thanks though, sugar. Keep up the good detective work. Yeah, gotta go." He hung up and shook his head.

"Alright. Elle and I are going to look around the dorm and ask some questions. Derek, Spencer, Hotch—don't be seen. Their cover can't be blown." With that, he piled files and pictures into Spencer's hands, grabbing his coat, and left. The men followed each other into a tinted car, making their way toward the scene of the kidnapping. The ride wasn't long, but Hotch had to get out and shoo every last stray person away before Derek and Spencer could safely jump out ad walk over. There was a nearby bench, and he set down the files and leafed through a few as Derek looked around.

"If I were our unsub…" he muttered, walking around. His eyes were in some sort of trance as he examined the way her books and bag were strewn. He began to speak as he bent, looking at the large hole in the fabric. "It looks like something made this hole…I'm guessing he came up behind her after a late class and grabbed the bag. He tried to pull her back by it but she got out of it and tried to run—" he pointed forward, where the blood was, about three yards away. "He got angry and threw the bag here from…there." He pointed again, to a spot about a yard from him, where books and papers were scattered. "And then he ran after her and they fought, which eventually led to him grabbing that book—" he pointed to said blood-stained college textbook, "and bashing her on the head, leaving her unconscious, so he could drag her away."

He got up and brushed off his pants, looking around the site as if to check again. Then he nodded and looked behind him to Hotch, who was looking at nearby trees, trashcans, and benches for any further evidence. Spencer looked up from his file, a small bit on Isabella—Bella—Carter, and sighed. After seeing this picture of a girl he never saw before, he felt almost relieved that it wasn't the same Bella from yesterday. Why, he had no idea. But that was how he felt.

"It does say here that she had a late class yesterday night, so you're probably right," Spencer said, pointing to her schedule. Derek nodded to him as Hotch's phone rang. Spencer could faintly hear Gideon's voice on the other end, though he couldn't make out anything but what was said on Hotch's side.

"Yes, we're going to further examine the bag and a specific book…we have an idea of what went on here. No, we're not much closer, other than that…alright. Got it." He shut his phone with a snap and made his way to the car, coming back with gloves on and plastic bags in which he carefully placed the book and bag. "We're gonna drop this off for further testing at the station, and then you guys have to go. Now we'll just be interviewing her friends, and you can't participate in any of that. I would suggest sleep or a date or movie. Let's go."

The car ride back was silent, and Derek said nothing as he drove them in their new rental car to the dorm. As they walked in, Spencer sighed and dropped the files onto his bedside table for later examination. He was tired, but not ready to sleep, as it was only noon. Derek went into the bathroom, changed, and came back out with an expectant look on his face. "C'mon man—it's our job to snoop in the local gossip. Let's find a party or local club or something." Spencer knew he was right, and yet he didn't want to. But slowly, silently, he nodded and got up, following him out the door. They decided to walk amongst the other students, looking around and chatting with a few cute girls that Derek would stop along the way.

"Hey sugar," he said to a redhead with her back turned. She looked behind her at them and appraised Derek with a smile. Spencer said nothing, standing there awkwardly as Derek began to extract information from her. "You know of any hot-spots for students?"

"Um…" her voice was high and whiny, and her eyes sparkled with lust as she looked at him. She bit her lip in a seductive way, but Derek either didn't notice or ignored it. "There's a café right off campus. Everyone meets and gossips there, but it's hot around five-ish on Fridays. And then a lot of people shop for books at The Page Palace, right down there." She smiled at him again. "And there's always my dorm."

He laughed and patted her cheek. "Maybe another time. I'll keep in touch." And walked away. Spencer shook his head and looked at him in something akin to confusion.

"I don't know how you do it. Get these girls falling all over you in milliseconds. I couldn't if I tried—and who would want women throwing themselves at your feet almost constantly?" he muttered. Derek laughed.

"You just don't understand, you little brainiac you." He ruffled Spencer's hair, and he slapped the offending hand away. "It's nice to be wanted. And flirting is fun. Y'oughtta try it sometime. In fact…" He looked over and followed Derek's gaze. Long mahogany hair bounced in time with the gentle sway of a female's hips. Derek sped up a little, toward her, and smiled at him. "Watch and learn."

With that said, Spencer hung just a bit behind as Derek put his arm casually around her. She yelped and jumped away, toward him, and fell. All he could think was _damn_, before he hit the cement, her on top of him. She was panting and looking around frantically, and he could only wait for her to realize he was stuck and get up. Derek stared, his eyes wide, before he laughed.

"Wh—what do you think you were doing?" she hissed at him, and that was when Spencer recognized the voice. He groaned internally to himself, the thought of his frantic need to escape the bookstore yesterday returning to the forefront of his mind.

"Not again," he said out loud by accident, making the girl jump away from him, swinging around, and staring him down.

"Spencer?" she asked quietly, amazed, before turning around and looking at Derek. "And you're…um…Derek, right?" she sighed. Spencer got up, brushing himself off, and felt surprised at the fact that she not only remembered him, but knew who his friend was.

"Yeah…how'd you know?" he asked suspiciously. She shifted to her other foot nervously, before laughing without humor again.

"Because everyone seems to know, especially if you make a habit of pulling that crap." She gestured vaguely to where Spencer was standing, and Derek snickered at her.

"Got some fire to ya, huh?" he asked. She ignored him, turning around to Spencer.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly. "Sorry, by the way. All of our encounters shouldn't include falling. That would probably get old after a while." She mustered a smile that didn't reach her eyes. He wanted to question why she looked so sad, empty, almost, but bit his tongue.

"I'm fine, thank you. And like I said, no need to be sorry," he said after a moment of hesitation. Derek's eyebrows raised to his hairline.

"You two know each other? Damn, Spence, and here I thought you weren't a lady's man." He slapped him on the shoulder in a friendly way, but Spencer felt his face heat up.

Bella laughed again, in that same way that nearly gave him the chills. It just sounded so forced and wrong. "Yeah, your friend here is quite the catch. Maybe you shouldn't doubt him so much." And she walked away. Derek nodded to him, his eyebrows still abnormally high, but Spencer just shook his head and followed after her.

"Hey, Bella?" he called. She stopped abruptly and turned around, looking at him in silence. He blushed, realizing he didn't know what to say or ask.

"D'ya know any local spots for students to meet and all that jazz?" Derek asked for him.

She bit her lip and sighed, leaning on one foot and thinking. "Um…well, you know about the Page Palace already. And the Jordan Café is pretty hot too. I work there on Fridays through Mondays, and it's pretty much always crowded from two to seven." She shifted awkwardly again, glancing between Spencer and Derek, hoping that they would drop it and leave.

But they didn't. Instead, Derek asked an odd question. "Did you know that a girl named Isabella Carter was kidnapped yesterday?" Spencer looked at him angrily. That information wasn't released to the public yet. How could he be so stupid as to tell this girl, who they didn't know?

She backed up a step in surprise. "No. How do you know?"

"Heard it from some girl." He shrugged nonchalantly, as if it didn't matter. "Pretty scary if you ask me. Did you know her, by any chance?"

She bit her lip again and looked away. "I've talked to her. She was in one of my classes…but we weren't friends. I don't have any of those," she added as an afterthought. Both men furrowed their brows but didn't say anything.

She yawned, covering her mouth. "Look, I'm tired and kinda sore, now." She glared listlessly at Derek, before turning to Spencer. "I'm going home. See ya later." With that, she walked off toward where he could only assume her dorm was. Derek looked over at Spencer, to the sky, and sighed.

"No one's really out at around three on Thursday," he said sadly. "I guess we're stuck at home." And silently, they made their way back to scouring the files on their current case.

_Reading it over, I'm not the proudest, but it'll have to do. I hope you liked it! And…you know…I do appreciate reviews *hinthint*. :D_


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: Hey! I'd like to say yay! Chapter 4 is here! I'm so excited to continue this story because the ideas that are running through my head make me wanna scream with anticipation. And I know it's early, but there's one word that keeps popping up and I figured I'd get your guys' opinions, considering I write it all for you to see. What would you think if I mentioned the word 'sequel'? Because I'm drawing plans!_

_And also, if you're all cool enough to think of Criminal Minds and Twilight put together, what would you say if I tried my hand at a Heroes and Twilight crossover? I've been delving into the Heroes series and falling in love, especially with a certain Peter Petrelli. :D So, of course, my sick mind is trying to force him and Bella together—because I'm one of the few (sadly) and proud, who actually like her. At least, who she was supposed to be. Bella without Edward was smart, sarcastic, and stubborn—which, coincidentally, are the three S's I live by. And then Edward came along and she became a puddle. And I loved it then, but now after reading so many of their stories it puts me out, you know?_

_So those are my ideas, albeit fresh and weak ones. I hope ya'll agree because I'm uber excited about it. But, continuing, I should probably get this show on the road and get back to the drawing table to try and work on my scraps of plans. But I wanted to get some opinions from my valuable readers. Anyway, if you dropped me a line that would be awesome, but here's the story. I know, I know: finally, lol! :D_

She stared at the ceiling of her dorm, the light snores of her roommate the loudest thing in the room. Rolling over, she glanced at the clock, finding that it was too early for her to head to work quite yet. Disgruntled by this not quite surprising discovery, she rolled back over to stare at the ceiling again. She traced the light cracks from who knows what went on before she got here with her eyes, hoping that would distract her enough from the guilt that seemed to eat her up inside.

She had sent her usual note back to Phil after another of his letters and checks reached her. He made good money and always sent her plenty—five hundred dollars to help pay for her dorm, meal plan, any books she may need. She never had the heart to tell him she would be fine, as she worked three part-time and good paying jobs—not to mention she was often tipped. Although she couldn't say she was the best server, but guys would give her hefty amounts for almost nothing. It was crazy—she couldn't understand why and she didn't think she ever would.

But, of course, she accepted the money and cashed the check, always. But it wasn't even the usual unease she felt at receiving a gift or money of some kind. It was his letters that seemed to rip her to pieces. He would detail his life, how he wouldn't look twice when women flirted with him, how he loved her mother and her more than himself, and how he felt that she was a wonderful step-daughter to him. He would beg that they see each other soon and ask her to write him, to tell him how college was, what was going on in her life, about her boyfriends he seemed sure that she had.

Instead, she had simply written _'Thank You'_ and nothing more. Two cold, blocked words, letting him know that she wasn't dead. Not physically.

Yet.

She sighed. Rolled over. Stared at the lump that was the girl she roomed with—even though they never saw each other. She felt terrible for not giving him more, but what could she say? She barely remembered anything—her life was a metaphorical blur. She phased in and out of reality, keeping just enough presence of mind to not kill herself and do any task she needed to do well. Extremely well. Too well.

She just couldn't let Phil see the broken mess she had become. Before the crash she had been fine and dandy compared to this thing she was, constantly wondering what it would be like if she just up and left. Not drove away, but _left_. Completely—bloody, hanging, she didn't care. She just wanted her numbness gone, and yet it was her only lifeline.

She always questioned herself, though. Why should she accept the money? It seemed as if she were using him—which she was not. At least, she never tried to use him. It was just that she knew he must be similar to her and put on the cheeriness in the letters he sent. She didn't want to shun him completely when he had done so much for her—so she took his money and confirmed that she was, indeed, still here. It seemed she would feel horrible either way. She would only illustrate for him how terrible she was, shun him completely, or use him. She could never decide which was the lesser of all evils.

The alarm clock beeped, her roommate groaned, and she jumped at the chance to leave and distract herself. She slammed the button, putting on the second alarm for the other girl and her plans, grabbing her apron and running into the cool New Hampshire air. The first thing she noticed was the odd looks people gave her—bundled in at least light jackets as they were. She looked down to see she was wearing a thin black t-shirt—which, admittedly, was her whole wardrobe. But the cold was something she simply didn't feel anymore.

She watched as her skin prickled with goose bumps, but paid no mind as she tied her apron and checked it for her order-pad, pen, mints, and spare change. Of course she was stocked and organized—everything in her life went according to plan anymore, simply because she never planned anything but work and school and sleep. Possibly eating, if she could stomach shoving food down her throat.

She rushed into the café in record time, smiling tightly at the crowd that paid her no mind; all seated in what would be her section within minutes. She made good money here, but that wasn't what made that faint bit of something resembling joy in her heart. It was the thought of no more thoughts for a long period of time to come. She tied her hair back as she made her way behind the counter to check in. Ready at last, she looked at her section, finding that the previous waitress—she knew that the name started with a 'D'—Debbie? Daisy? Daphne?—had taken care of the whole crowd. So she went around and made sure the cooks were on task, which they were. Then she went to the back room and re-stocked the napkins and silverware, but stopped the useless task as the bell jingled.

She glanced at the clock on her way out—it was exactly two, meaning she had been behind the counter for about five minutes. It was high time she got to checking on her customers anyway. She spun around the counter, catching herself before she fell, but still managed to run into someone and knock them back toward the door. He yelped, and her cheeks flushed instantly—but she was lucky to find that no one besides whoever was trying to help her from behind had noticed. Finally, she grabbed hold of the hand that was lightly on her waist, as if to steady her, and pulled herself away. "I'm so s—"

"Bella?" Her lips twitched as she fought a sarcastic, disbelieving smile. She spun and saw Derek, then looked to Spencer, and found that the world was cruel, but did have something akin to a sense of humor.

"_Really,_ we have to find some other way to greet each other. This keeps up and one—or both, as the case may be—of us may end up in the hospital," she said drily, stepping away so he could straighten to his full, towering height over her.

"Yeah," he breathed. "With a heart-attack or two on top of it. You scared the life outta me." His breathing regulated as she smirked.

"I guess I'm just repaying you for your buddy's little stunt yesterday. Look, I have customers," she threw her thumb over her shoulder, "so you're welcome to sit anywhere while I tend to them." And then she took off toward various tables, reassuring them that she was their new waitress and she wanted to make sure they were okay. But as she turned back to the counter, she groaned. _Of course they're in MY section,_ she thought bitterly, but she resigned herself and walked over, pad in hand.

She bit her lip as her eyes locked with Spencer's on her way over, and she couldn't pull herself away. That…scared her. She felt as if she were some kind of science experiment, being examined and probed as he searched her eyes with curiosity. She reached the table, the tie between them strengthening, before looking down and shutting her eyes. She looked back up and to Derek as she said, "Can I get you guys anything?"

Derek smirked at her, "Sure sugar, I—" Quickly, she reached around and roughly—though accidently—slammed the sugar container from the table behind her in front of him.

"Would you like coffee with that?" she said as her lips twitched again at his jump. Spencer chuckled quietly, hiding his mouth behind his hand and looking away as Derek glared at him from across the table. But that was short lived as he looked at Bella with mild amusement.

"Actually, coffee stunts your growth. And the ladies kinda _depend_ on my _growth_." He winked at her, but she furrowed her brow at him in confusion.

"What?" she asked, and he knew by her tone she was totally clueless. Spencer half-choked on his laugh and just looked at her, almost as dumb-founded as Derek seemed to be.

Derek opened and closed his mouth twice, before huffing and shaking his head. "I like eggs, actually. Got any menus?" She nodded and handed them to him, still confused by what was obviously supposed to be a joke of some kind, but she knew it had gone over her head. Usually she could say she was quick to catch on, but she didn't understand what he had meant. He was in college now, why would he worry about stunting his growth? It was obvious he was done growing.

She looked between the two of them before deciding she would ask later. They were, after all, in one of her classes—Spencer in two of them. So she opted for the usual waitress tactic, knowing she had spent more than the usual amount of time at this table, and knowing that before long the other waitresses on duty would begin to wonder. Gossip, in her mind, was loathed.

"So, before you order, d'you want any drinks?" she asked, bringing the pad and pen up and biting her lip as she looked between the two of them.

Derek looked at Spencer, and they both just nodded to each other. "How about two…uh…damn, neither of us ever really pick up the coffees. Two cappuccinos, please?" She smiled and nodded, running away from what was becoming a slightly awkward scene and making her way to the coffee machine.

Coming back with two steaming Styrofoam cups, she set them down and looked back at the boys. "Ready to order or do you want more time?" she asked, carefully avoiding the probing eyes of the one on her right.

"Um…I think we're ready?" Derek said, and she assumed that he took time to look to Spencer, who must have nodded. "Yeah. Uh…can I get the simple egg breakfast? With a bagel?" She nodded and looked at him fully this time, glancing down occasionally as she scribbled the order.

"How do you want your eggs?" she asked quickly, and he smirked at her.

"As easy as they come." She didn't find anything wrong with what he had said—she just wrote _'over easy'_. But he obviously expected her to, and looked slightly disheartened when she finally made herself look at Spencer, not missing a beat.

He just shrugged, glanced at the menu, and looked up at her quickly. "I—I guess I'll, uh, just have what he's having," he said hastily, looking away from her and folding up the menu. She nodded and took both of them.

"Alright. Just a sec." And she walked away, disappearing behind the counter. He watched after her, a light blush on his cheeks, and couldn't help but notice that same, slight feminine sway she possessed. Although one of the smallest, most petite women he'd seen in his life, she managed to have perfect curves.

He bit his lip and gulped, ripping his eyes away from the space she had filled, and looking to Derek. He smirked at him. "I like that chick. Even though she's kinda…" his face was screwed up, and Spencer waited patiently for him to finish his thought. "I dunno. How do you describe a college girl _that_ clueless? She had no idea what I was saying. It's kinda hard to flirt with someone who doesn't even _know _you're flirting." Spencer felt something weird—a hot pang in his chest as Derek mentioned flirting with the girl, but he pushed the feeling aside. It was too dark for his liking.

"Just…clueless, naïve, innocent. She seems harmless but…" Spencer trailed off, remembering the look in her eyes that never quite went away. "…wounded. Like there's something eating at her." He looked to Derek for confirmation, but only received a nearly blank stare.

"What are you talking about? She seems fine to me," Derek said, his brows furrowing. That same blank, what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look remained on his face.

"You haven't noticed?" Spencer asked incredulously, leaning forward just slightly and discretely glancing to confirm Bella wasn't within earshot. "Her eyes. They're always dazed and…empty looking. I don't know quite how to describe it, but it's like she's constantly in pain."

Derek's frown and the furrowed brow that accompanied it deepened. "No, I didn't pay _that_ much attention, seeing as how I just met the girl. I didn't know you'd pay that much attention to just some random girl either." His words had quite an obvious double-meaning, especially as a slow smile crept onto his face. "Could Spencer Reid—my Spencer Reid—really be developing…" he paused for a long, dramatic gasp, and Spencer silently seethed, as he knew what was to be said. But he didn't know how to deny it.

"…a crush?" Derek finished loudly, and a few tables turned annoyed glares to him as his grin widened. Spencer's lips tightened to a small, thin line as he fought his annoyance away. But then he sighed and opted to ignore it.

"Aren't we on a quest for information that could possibly lead us to a serial killer here? Yet you're going to try and tease me like a child. Fitting," he commented after a moment's silence. Derek paused, looking for an answer, and came back with another smile.

"Of course. We could always ask your girlfriend." Spencer rolled his eyes at the mere childishness that Derek seemed to possess, and opened his mouth to respond when Bella seemed to appear out of thin air next to them. A thin pale arm slowly set two identical plates in front of them, and he followed it, carefully skipping over her breasts, to her face. She smiled tightly—in that forced way of hers—as their eyes locked briefly.

"Here's your food. Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked quietly, and looked over as the evilest smirk crossed Derek's face.

"Yes, you could _do_—" Spencer, immediately knowing where he was going to go and the awkwardness it would bring—not to mention the unpleasant thought of this girl _loathing_ him the rest of his life—cut him off.

"Derek and I like cream cheese on our bagels," he said quickly, sharply. She smiled again and nodded.

"Good choice," she said as she reached into her apron and pulled out the packets of cream cheese she had grabbed earlier, just in case. She set them down and began to walk away, to another table, but the visible tension and anger Spencer was directing at Derek didn't go unnoticed. She shoved the curiosity—so unlike her these days—away and continued doing her job. But once more, she looked at Spencer, and wondered how someone's eyes could be so intense.

Spencer watched her walk away out of the corner of his eye, but continued putting all his energy into staring Derek down. Said man just laughed, reaching for a fork to eat his eggs with. "Really, man, lighten up. Besides, I was making a legitimate request. She asked if she could do anything for us, and dude, you _really _need to get la—" Spencer cleared his throat and continued to glare, and Derek—thankfully—decided to drop it.

They ate in relative silence for a few minutes, and Slowly Spencer's mind began to drift from the girl to the case. But there was a close link between the two, and he was continually pulled toward the more appealing thoughts—the ones that didn't have to do with the brutal defilement and murders of defenseless women. But he couldn't help but notice that _this_ Isabella was just as vulnerable and perfect a candidate as the last.

_A shorter chapter than the last, yes, but I'm happy with it nonetheless. I 3 writing the dialogue, and making Bella naïve is just a favorite hobby of mine. Also, I've forgotten time and time again to mention that this takes place in New Moon and before any actual episodes in Criminal Minds. So, like, before the pilot and all that followed._

_Anyway, I really hope you liked this chapter as much as I did. Writing it was a serious blast for me—I dunno why, actually. It was though—I'm just a sucker for making Derek a flirtatious monster that messes with our poor innocent Bella's head. And you can see that Spencer's feelings are kinda developing to crush level—I'm gonna base it off of that first crush he had on that bitch actress. I hate her for no reason, lol. Well, she did kiss my Spencer…in a pool…and she was half-naked while doing it…and rich and famous and all that jazz…damn her to hell. :P_

_So, I'll leave it there with adieu. And I hope you review. (even if it's just because I made a totally awesome rhyme by accident. I'll take it) :D_


	5. Chapter 5

_I'm back, babe! I know—it's been forever. I can explain, though—the first reason I left this story was because I got over-excited with my other. That one is now on hiatus. But then I left for a while for medical reasons. Now here I am, back to writing._

_I just want ya'll to know I got your messages/reviews urging me to continue this story. I'm so sorry about the wait—if I could go back and focus more on this one I would, I swear. Sadly, I just have to make up for lost time now._

_So, I also wanna apologize for continuity errors—as you may know, I'm lazy. So lazy, in fact—not to mention such a self-ego-basher (does that make sense?) that I would have gotten sick—that I couldn't go and read what I wrote. And since so much time has passed, you know…_

_So here we go. I don't own anything but the plot. And maybe an OC or two._

_By the way, sorry about the lack of defining my jumps from Spencer to Bella. I used to put 3 asterisks, but they like to disappear. If you would, could you let me know if my new method works or not? You'd be a doll, dear._

_So, here we go. For real this time. I hope you like…and don't kill me for making you wait. :D_

The sun was bright and the air was dry—she was used to excessive moisture, and began to cough, wondering where the green was. She looked around herself, examining her dull gray and sand surroundings. The sky was large around her, the desert spanning out of sight in all directions.

Suddenly it was cool. She felt him next to her, watching the little sparkly reflections dance on her skin. She looked over at him, and he was beautiful, breathtaking—and smiling at her. She gave him one back, and it came easily. She forgot why she was so hesitant of being here.

"Bella." She looked to the soft feminine voice, and her eyes welled up as her heart wrenched with built up emotion and ache.

"Mom," she said back, her voice choked, her vision blurring, her eye tickled with excess water—she felt her nose tingle and burn. "Mom," she said again.

Her mother was glowing, in a light colored sundress and her hair catching the sunlight in beautiful red twists. She gave Bella a beautiful smile and looked next to her. Bella did not feel panic at the fact that her boyfriend was sparkling in front o her mother—just peace. They were all together now.

"Hello Bella. Edward." Her mother nodded to the both of them, but reached forward and grasped Bella's hand. It was warm and soft, light as air in her own. Bella curled her fingers around her mother's and held on tightly, afraid she'd disappear.

"Mom," Bella said again. Her tears fell and gathered dust from a light wind. Her mom gave her a radiant white smile, before letting go of her hand. She opened her arms.

Bella let go of the other cold hand in her own and threw her arms around her mother. She felt herself crying, and there were embarrassing noises coming out of her mouth, but that didn't matter. Her mom was warm and soft and solid and something safe to hold onto. She squeezed.

And with a nearly audible pop, it was all gone. Bella was cold and sweaty, shivering and crying all at the same time. She looked frantically around her room and saw her alarm, which had shattered her dreams and woken her. For a moment, she didn't remember the dream or her reality. But soon the worse of the two came back to her, like a tidal wave sweeping over the shore. An ache, so painful, Bella couldn't breathe.

She closed her eyes and cried. The alarm blared, but she could barely hear it over her heart. It beat frantically, irregularly, and she felt like she was sliding down a mountain, toward a rocky end that would be painful, horrible, but peaceful. Freeing.

Finally, she managed to shut off the alarm. She opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling, counting the cracks and the shadows. She was about to force herself up and moving like any other day, but for some reason, it was different today. She felt different.

She didn't get up.

Laying there, staring at the ceiling, she felt like she was too heavy to move. And so she didn't. The daylight came and went, her roommate left her, and she simply stayed in bed. Everything was tired, the room was buzzing, and she knew if she got up she'd have a terrible case of head rush. So she stayed, and she convinced herself that was the _only_ reason she was staying.

She stared at the ceiling for hours, barely blinking, just watching. Everything seemed simpler when she was laying down, watching the ceiling. It was a constant thing—it didn't change or disappear or anything crazy. It stayed.

So she, too, stayed.

##

He went nearly crazy. He wasn't quite sure why he was so frantic over her not showing up to either of their classes, but he was and that was that. The killer wasn't known for taking two victims at a time, but Bella was obviously special. She couldn't just be special to him—no, that was impossible. She was different to _everybody_, right—he didn't just feel this way. Because if it was just him, then that spelled trouble.

He watched the clock. He tried to pay attention to the professors, but when he already knew the topics they discussed—it was hard. So he worried and waited and glared at Derek when he started to do something stupid. But soon he found himself so out of character it was crazy—he actually began to flick the pen cap back, in a game of impromptu hockey. Derek won, of course, but for a few seconds he was happily distracted.

Finally, after what seemed to be ages, he was done for the day. He left and went to meet Derek at the café where she worked. He felt a small bit of hope he quashed before he could get disappointed. And the whole way there, he convinced himself he was worried about the _killer_, not necessarily Bella specifically.

He walked in and Derek was there, looking at a menu. He went to the table and sat, and Derek looked up at him. He threw Spencer a cheesy grin. "Hey R—Spencer. Damn. Still not used to that."

Spencer spared him an eye roll before cutting to business. "Who's our waitress?"

His partner's answering grin was slow and sly. By the look of it, Spencer felt relief. "A really hot redhead," Derek answered. "Damn. Always so spicy, those ones."

Spencer felt something drop as a woman with a small pen and pad of paper asked them what they'd like, confirming just that. Before Derek could offer his most likely sexual answer, Spencer cut in, "Is Bella here?"

The girl gave him a flat, bored look. "That quiet girl with the brown hair? No. Didn't even call off." She made an annoyed clicking noise and shook her head, before repeating her original question.

Spencer gripped the table, waiting for Derek to order before saying, "Same."

She left, slightly disgruntled for…whatever reason. He didn't really care.

Derek gave him another evil grin. "So your dream girl ain't here, huh?"

Spencer sighed. "It's not that," he said, slightly impatient. "Didn't you even notice her? Pretty, brunette, petite—she's exactly the killer's type."

Derek paused. There was a change in his demeanor—it wasn't so funny anymore. "I see your point," he said at last. He paused again, leaning his chin on his clasped hands, thinking. "Let's just wait, 'kay? We don't wanna jump to conclusions."

Spencer found this advice to be very sensible, and didn't question, simply eating slowly. He didn't really taste anything, opting to go over the case and forget about Bella. She was probably sick or partied too much or something college-like.

When they finished, Derek took them back to the police station, as planned. They met up with the team there, and before they could start, JJ walked into the room.

"The public's still anxious about the leaked information, so I'm gonna be gone on a press conference spree. Yay," she said sarcastically. She grabbed her jacket, which was folded over the back of a chair, and walked out of the room.

"Speaking of the leak," Spencer began, "could it have been the killer who did it?"

"Usually they like to relieve the crime by being involved—either by providing information or making it more known to the public," Hotch chimed, looking at Gideon.

"Yes," Gideon responded. "But he also takes trophies…the fingers. They don't normally get involved and also take a prize. Either our guy's upping his game for more fun—or there's two."

"All the evidence at the crime scenes point to only one," Derek reported. "I mean—the scene of his latest kidnapping showed a serious struggle. But usually there is no struggle if there's more than one."

Gideon contemplated this. "This is true," he said. "So say he's just anxious for more of a thrill—a real adrenaline junky. If this is the case, then it's only a matter of time before he ups the ante more."

"And takes more of a risk," Spencer said.

"And takes _too much_ of a risk," Gideon stated.

"Are you saying we just wait it out?" Garcia said from her seat. Spencer wondered briefly why she was here and not at the computer as she usually was, but she must have picked up on his inquisitive stare—as well as Derek's—and pointed to a sandwich. "Lunch break."

"No…" Gideon said slowly. "I'm saying…we try our best. But if worse comes to worst, he'll reveal himself eventually."

"Well, what do you think his next step might be?" Hotch asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Maybe…a letter to friends or family, a public kidnapping, taking more than one victim…" Spencer trailed off at that thought, remembering his earlier worries about a girl he barely knew.

"He'll bite off more than he can chew eventually," he finished, weakly.

"So this guy's looking for a bigger thrill every time?" Derek asked.

"Exactly. So we can guess he's no older than his mid-forties, but no younger than his early thirties. If he was older, he'd most likely stick with one consistent method, while he couldn't possibly be as careful and calculating if he was younger," Gideon reasoned.

"He couldn't be very large or strong," Derek said. "These girls are all pretty small and fragile-looking; but he still has to struggle with them. So he's probably around 5'8", 5'9" or so. Thin like Reid." Spencer gave him a half-glare.

"So it has to be a professor…unless the school takes older students?" Hotch asked.

Gideon opened his mouth to answer, but they were interrupted by an extremely loud crunching noise. Their heads all turned to Garcia, who was rustling in a Sun Chips bag for another. She stopped and gave them a close-lipped smile, before swallowing. "Sorry," she said quietly.

"I don't think they do," Gideon continued.

"So we've narrowed it down to a skinny professor with obvious mental issues," a now focused Garcia said. "Great."

"Well…most likely. It may not even be a professor—just a man who lives near the campus," Hotch said.

Gideon steepled his fingers and pursed his lips. After a moment of silent contemplation, he stood from his chair. "Hotch, you and I are going to meet with Elle and tell the department about our findings. Don't mention the leak. Garcia, find out how many male professors fit our description. Derek, Spencer—find some professors and talk to them. I don't care how you do it, just do it. And don't blow cover," he looked to Derek as he said this, before leaving the room. Hotch followed.

##

Bella finally sat up, pain blooming up her back and neck from her lack of movement. Her stomach grumbled. But she didn't care about that—she just needed to do something.

She knew Phil was counting on her success. She knew Jacob was, too. If she didn't make it through college, they'd be more worried about her than they were currently. She couldn't deal with that attention on her—she just couldn't. And it would be her luck that what she missed this very day would be the one thing she'd need above all else.

So she forced herself out of bed. She forced herself to move. She forced herself to shower, to change, and to head to campus. Night had fallen and there was a small wind, as well as a light mist falling, but she didn't care. She needed to find her professors.

This day she'd had calculus, her foreign language, and her English class.

She rushed to her English classroom, but it was locked and the lights were off. She groaned, but had no choice but to leave. She headed to her foreign language.

Her instructor was a nice woman, who was just on her way out when Bella caught her. But she smiled and quickly reviewed the day, before leaving for her early appointment.

She finally made it to calculus. Her professor and his aide were sitting there, shuffling papers around and talking. She sighed, glad they were still there, and rushed into the room.

Both men looked at her, their conversation stopping. The aide froze, while her instructor smiled. She almost felt bad—the aide was known for being skittish and easy to frighten. Her sudden appearance probably did just that.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Swan?" her instructor asked. He got up to meet her. He was a small guy with big glasses. She shook his hand, and noticed he'd lost his wedding ring again. She wasn't sure why she noticed this fact—maybe because he shook everyone's hand before each and every class—but she did. Almost once a month it would be missing for a few days, then back again.

Bella shook her head. She was getting distracted. She glanced at the aide, who kept his head down as he shuffled his papers around listlessly, before looking back to her professor.

"I was wondering what we had done today?" she asked.

"Ah," he professor took her to the desk his aide was at, who visibly shrunk in his seat. "Dr. Kay here could tell you. He took over while I was gone all this morning."

The aide looked up at her slowly, as if it was painful to do so. Their eyes didn't meet.

"We reviewed your notes and I assigned a large report on the history of math and the impact it makes on today's society." It was an odd assignment, but she said her thanks and left. Her professor made sure to shake her hand again.

_Shorter than I'd rather, but not terrible. I dropped in some plot stuffs. You know, like making gravy—gotta slowly and gradually add the flour to thicken. :D_

_I do adore reviews. I don't deserve them, but you're all nice people, right? And I love you readers who have yet to chop off my head! :D Even though you're most likely thinking about it. Man I'm a horrible author. D:_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Thanks to all the nice reviews and suggestions! I took them all into consideration and, obviously, used a few. I'm sorry to report that this chapter is also short, and I wanted to continue it, but at the same time it was an eh…I think it would just be a rift in the tempo I've got going on here. So, yes, another short one, but I'm hoping for character development, plot development, and a longer chapter next time!**_

_**So this took me a little too long, but everything got hectic again for various reasons, and it's calming again. So I'm thinking within the next week or so I'll get the next chapter up for ya'll, though I don't want to get your hopes up too far, just in case. But now that I've reached a slightly crucial turning point for our Bella here, I think it'll start flowing easier. I want to guarantee this self-loathing phase is going to end—not immediately, but this marks the start of that, 'kay?**_

_**Also, before I forget to mention, I hate this chapter. I don't know what bugs me, but it truly gets under my skin. I just want you all to know it's less than par, and I hope to improve next time. ;)**_

_**And so, in order to shorten everything, I want to thank everybody! Believe it or not, and I really hope you choose to believe it, but I do love you all and your reviews! They make me so happy, and sometimes when the plot is slow coming I'll read them over just to get a jump-start on the story again. Honestly, I can't stress enough how much your meaningful reviews help me. When you take the time to critique and comment and commend my writing, I'm truly touched through reading what you have to say. **__**You, my readers, are the makers of this story.**__** No, that's not just a corny line for the sake of corny lines, that's the garsh-darn truth!**_

_**So, super long authors note from hell, then super short chapter from hell. But I hope you all like it hot!**_

_***Insert disclaimer here. Yes, I'm too lazy to be creative***_

_**:D**_

The air was crisp as she walked home slowly. She didn't care about the chill nipping at her exposed fresh, the drops of rain falling down on her and soaking through her clothes, she didn't care about any of that. She had her assignments and for some strange reason, her eyes were burning with the need to cry. She sucked back any tears that threatened to fall and continued her steady pace through the rain, fearing that she could start bawling any second. She wasn't sure why, but she felt strangely homesick. At first she began to run toward her dorm, thinking it was the rain making her want to be home sooner. But then the pain in her chest grew, the longing becoming staggering, and she realized it was more than that. It was homesickness for her mother's hugs, her father's awkward smiles, Jacob's warmth. Anything but this.

And now most of those things were gone. She couldn't see Jacob anymore, not like she wanted. And if she couldn't be around him always, then she wasn't going to tease herself with the little bits and pieces she could steal from his imprint. It was hard enough already. And her parents…she simply couldn't see them. At all.

That had been what hurt. She was sure she'd coped with it enough just to think about it, but she couldn't. When the solid thought began to form in her mind that never once in her life would she get to experience the feeling of being loved, of feeling love, she began to get this quivering tremor in her heart that made her nearly fall to her knees. She just couldn't bear the thought of being like this forever. But she knew she would be.

She was just too weak. Too weak to keep them by her side. Too weak to cope with losing them. Too weak to end the pain. She was just too weak.

So she kept her stride steady. She let her tears fall. She pretended they were merely raindrops and kept going.

She allowed herself this time to wallow, to let her mask fall, to feel something other than _blank_. She allowed herself to become human again, to become herself—no matter how weak. But it was all cut short as her blood ran cold.

It was all over the campus now, the killer. He was lurking everywhere—he was something she'd never seen, never had described in detail. He was just some figure that she knew existed, something that picked off the weak ones in the crowd. He was lying in the darkness, waiting. She'd grown to believe he simply _was_ the dark, the shadow in the corner. He was just some being that, while existing, she'd never thought about too much.

But her blood ran cold as he came to the forefront of her mind now. There was a hunched figure in the distance, no trace of anything but a black coat showing. Just a moving shadow against every other shadow. And he was coming her way, his strides quick and long compared to her own. She felt her chest tighten as the seed planted itself in her mind, that fear, that worry, that refusal. It grew to be painful as her lungs sucked in the cool air, her throat burned, and she became _sure_ that was him there, ready to snatch her.

_The weakest._

She knew that her best option was to run. No longer was there doubt in her mind—she panicked. It was him. And she knew she should run. She knew that. Run. But every time she thought it, her legs didn't respond. Why wouldn't they respond? Run. Please. But nothing happened, and he was getting closer. Her heart thumped so hard she began to shake. Or was that the cold? The fear?

Her whole body locked. He was only feet away. He was going to torture her, to kill her, to defile her body, to…

"Bella?"

Her heart, which had been beating so hard it was painful, stopped. The sound of the rain drifted, her breath was held, everything paused for a moment.

There was a rush of cool relief through her limbs. Her breath came out so hard she began to cough. Her tears started again, her mind blanked and rejoiced for a brief moment.

"Spencer," she gasped. Her coughs continued.

He walked up to her, his stride quick, his face appearing in the darkness of the hood. He touched her wrist, tightly locked around her torso as her body heaved with each cough, and she felt safe in that moment. She wasn't all alone out here—there was someone protecting her. He probably wouldn't be able to _actually_ protect her in dangerous circumstances, but his presence was enough that she didn't seem to care. In that moment, when she'd been so sure that she would have bet her _life_ she was going to die by the hands of a psycho, she'd felt so alone. Like only she and that shadow that suddenly became _all too real_ were the only living things in the world. She felt like she was trapped.

But now she felt better, felt like she could almost sing with relief, with thankfulness. But she kept quiet, relaxed herself, and swallowed back her coughs. Her teeth began to chatter as she looked up at Spencer, who was closer than she thought he was.

"You look sick," he stated bluntly, and she felt slightly offended, but he was here and not the murderer, so it washed back. His hands were on hers suddenly, and he almost sighed, "You're cold."

"I'm sorry," she responded, though it was probably the most idiotic thing to say. But that didn't occur to her then, she was just looking at him. He thought it was odd that she blinked so much, but he was more worried about the blue tinge to her skin—already a sickly looking pale—and her red-rimmed eyes. Bella, meanwhile, was trying to blink away the strange way the shadows skewed his face, into something almost demonic, reminding her of her thoughts on the killer. She felt the tremor running through her suddenly ice-cold body build, making her nearly fall over. Her legs were weakening, her head feeling lighter than it should.

He blinked at her, squinting his eyes as a light rain that had started—though she wasn't sure when, and neither was he—began to grow heavier, falling harder. Her hair began to mat against her face, the wind blowing it into her mouth, into her eyes. She only stared at him for another moment as her thoughts began to drift to her mother, how warm she always was. His hands were also warm on hers, strangely so, and she knew at that moment she had to get away before she could keep up the thoughts of her parents. She wouldn't cry in front of him, in front of anyone.

She tugged her hands out of his, and he let her go easily. He watched her go, and she moved as fast as possible through the thickening rain. Suddenly it was a downpour, like she was stuck in a waterfall, and she didn't look back to see him standing there. She just continued to run. But like any other time she tried to move forward, she only felt like she was running in place.

##

He watched her go, immensely confused by her behavior, by the look in her eyes, but even more than that he was relieved. She'd been here, a tangible thing, right in front of him. He'd seen her living, seen her breathing, and he was able to breathe deeply again. He felt almost like he was coming up from underwater, having been drowning in a fear he didn't quite understand, and the reasons lurking just beyond this feeling were out of his reach. He also got the feeling that if he really thought on it, really took the time to ask himself just why he got so worked up, he would either not find the answer or not like what he did find. Considering that, in his gut, he just seemed to _know_ that road would be the less than pleasing one, he decided to leave the thoughts for later contemplation, calling a stalemate between his mind and these strange new heartstrings he'd managed to develop in such an alarmingly short amount of time.

Suddenly out of breath again, he flexed his hands into fists, suppressing a shiver as he watched her run away, her wet hair swinging behind her as she struggled not to fall. And while grace was considered a beautiful trait, he found he couldn't see what was so wrong with clumsiness. At least, on her. He'd admit it probably wasn't so attractive for a tall, lanky nerd like himself, but that didn't matter.

She turned a corner, and soon rounded out of his sight. He let out another breath and wondered just what he was doing out in the middle of campus. Nothing. Right. He stumbled backward before returning to his original pace, wandering in a circle for a moment as he tried to decide just where he'd originally come from. Eventually, he remembered that he was heading opposite of her, and started in that direction. And yet, he tried to convince himself that he had _not_ just glanced backward, after that infuriatingly mysterious girl.

Doomed. That was the only word that ran through his head. He was so doomed.

##

She managed it back to her dorm in pieces. She was wet, she was cold, she was tired. She looked at her bed, completely void of any personality, of any joy. She wanted so badly to crawl under the nondescript covers, pretend to be warm, fall asleep, and never wake up again. She just wanted this struggle to be over. She was tired of waking up every day confronted with the realization of just how alone in the world she was, of just how tired of this feeling she was, of just how obsolete she was. Isabella Marie Swan had been replaced a long time ago—she was the empty shell, abandoned by whatever had originally inhabited it. She was beginning to realize that in all her mourning, she'd forgotten to mourn for _herself_, for what she'd been. For that ignorance, for that innocence. And now it was so far away, so forgotten, that she sometimes mused on whether or not this new state of hers was even that bad compared to what had been. Who knew? There wasn't anyone around to tell her different. They'd all left her.

When she thought that, when she reminded herself that she was so alone in a great big world full of monsters, and that it was _all her fault,_ something seemed to snap.

She screamed. She just gathered a quick breath of air, filled her lungs, and allowed herself to expel her frustration into the silence. She slung off her wet jacket and snatched her alarm clock, flinging it toward the wall and shattering it. Her rage continued as she threw her cactus and smashed the pot, kicked over her drawers, screamed again, punched a nearby window, and finally hurled the last thing she had toward the wall. But the sound of decorated porcelain and glass, as well as the ripping of paper, made her go still. For a moment, she simply wondered what she'd thrown, but suddenly she felt her gut wrench, toppling over. She ignored her bloody hand and wrist, which was dripping onto the floor, and ran to the other side of the room. This couldn't be happening. No, no, no. Not this, of all things.

She fell to her knees, ignoring the pain that shot up her legs, and her tears rolled faster, her vision blurred and she felt a burning in her nose as she realized what she'd done. Her whole body shook with her sobs, the pain and loss and anger and hurt flowing like mad, like waves crashing against a shore, tearing her apart oh so slowly, grain of sand by grain of sand.

The shattered frame felt like thousands of pounds as she picked up the fragments and gazed at the paper, ripped in half by a shard of glass. Her mother had been torn from her again, in this final remnant she'd ever had of her. Her picture was unrecognizable, her baby cactus was long dead, and the matching frame and pot her mother had given her were in pieces. These things, these things she held dear…they were gone. All because she'd had another breakdown, had another day where the seams had burst, where the emotions had flown, and _look what she'd done_. Her thoughts became murky as she brought the pieces to her chest, sobbing, crying, mourning, and hating herself all at the same time. She couldn't believe this.

She stuttered out intelligible words, "Mom…Dad…Mom…I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry…" and she sobbed. She wished for what she'd lost, what she'd given up, what she'd stolen from herself.

An hour passed, and the bleeding never quelled. Bella, however, realized that too late. Her head became light from not getting enough air, her body felt sick from lack of movement and dehydration from so much crying, not to mention just how _cold_ she was, and the blood-loss was nearing dangerous. She'd only just realized that she should have done something about her wounds before purple specks danced in her vision. She reached for her cell phone, which she'd thrown somewhere in all of her anger, and managed to hit the only button she could think of.

There was a deep voice on the other end and she said his name, something else, but she was losing it before she could finish. Finally, she fell into the sleep she'd wanted from the beginning.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Hi! I'm super late, yada yada. I know. But this chapter hated me. I re-wrote it six times. This being the seventh copy. Is my math right? Who knows? All I know is that I am not happy with this chapter. There was an…air about it, this great build that I planned, but no matter how I write I just don't feel the full effect. This is the closest I got. And if you read with this song **__**http:/www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=ISqznIvtZOk**__** the effect is a little better. Gah, I dunno. Almost this whole time I've been trying to fix this to perfection. I've read this probably five million times and a half (I gave up once) and honestly? I'm sick of looking at it. I hope you like it, because right now I sure don't! I think my eyes have bled a little too much.**_

_**Anywho! After that mini-rant, I think I'll leave you to it. I hope you like the chapter, and the song. Oh, and that Supernatural/Twilight crossover I was talking about possibly doing? It's up. Only a small chapter, but it's out there! :D**_

_**So, enjoy, my lovelies! I adore you all! :DDDDDDDDDDDDDD (super smiley!)**_

Walking to class was slightly hard to do for him. He'd asked Derek just to meet him there, claiming that he was going to ask some more questions, but he knew Derek didn't believe him. He had to give the guy credit—he was smarter than he looked, or acted, for that matter.

In truth, Spencer just couldn't keep his mind off of her and those feelings she incited. He was on the verge of screaming at this point. He was just so frustrated. Why was he feeling like this? Hadn't he just met her? What was wrong with him?

The questions ran through his head so fast that he found it hard to focus on any one of them. They jumbled and squirmed, wanting answers that he simply couldn't give. He felt his nose sting as his tear-ducts tried to activate. He was so angry at his inability to fully comprehend what was wrong with him.

He wanted so badly to just throw his hands in the air and say that he was done. He was tired of chasing his own tail with this one. He was getting dizzy from the sheer amount of thought he was putting into this.

His swirling mind quieted as a buzz of commotion alerted him to the scene up ahead. He hadn't been aware he'd taken the route from last night, but as he rounded a corner, there was a large group of people. A tense chatter surrounded them, and he also noted police tape. He felt his stomach drop, wondering if the killer had struck again. Had they found the last victim yet? He found himself not sure on what was happening in the case, and that was a bad sign.

As he approached the group and the panicked air, he saw multiple policemen trying to hold back the confused, scared crowd. He always kept his badge on him, and his fingers slowly inched toward his wallet. He called out with more conviction than he thought he had, "Excuse me, officer!"

A nearby policeman jogged over, and Spencer didn't say a word as he led him away from the group. When he felt safe enough, he pulled out his wallet and flashed his badge to the man. "What's happened here?" again, his voice sounded stronger than he expected. He cleared his throat, nervously glancing around the campus to see if anyone was spying on their conversation. He found nothing.

"You know, I'm not too sure. I've heard from my buddy it was a suicide attempt—or a mental breakdown—something like that. Isn't the first time." The officer was too calm about it for Spencer's liking, but he filed that away. For the moment, he was trying to deal with the way his stomach churned at this news. He should be glad it wasn't the killer, but there was something nagging at him. Like instinct.

"Who?" his lips were numb when he asked, and the blood left his face at the answer.

"An Isabella Swan." As the officer saw his reaction, he raised an eyebrow, "You know her?"

"Uh…" the strength in his voice was gone, and it cracked as he tried to stutter out some response. He'd seen her, alive and well yesterday. "I…she's…a…report…literature…I…know her?" he gave up on making sense at that moment, and abruptly walked around the officer.

Oddly enough, he felt a bubble of anger deep in his belly. Hadn't he just been worried out of his mind about her well-being? Now she does this! A suicide attempt? He felt sick at the thought. What could have been so horrible? He realized he'd forgotten to ask if she was okay, but something inside him told him she was. Physically, at least. But she'd tried to kill herself. She tried to kill herself.

As he continued his journey to class, his thoughts were consumed with this. It was relief, but it was torture. He wasn't being bombarded with confusing, frustrating thoughts—just one. But this, this was terrible. The Bella that he liked a little too much had gone and tried to kill herself. She tried to kill herself.

This went on and on as he continued walking. He didn't know it was possible, but he realized after the fact that he had carried on a conversation with someone. He couldn't recall what it was about until he made it to where he was going. The problem? He wasn't at class.

##

Her eyes were slow to open, and she felt an immense pain growing in her head, shooting down her neck and back. She wasn't quite sure what had happened the night before, but she remembered everything at the same time. It was a fuzzy movie, just out of focus—but she'd seen it before, and she knew all the words.

She'd broken down. She'd reached her limit, somehow, and she'd let it lose. She'd broken everything valuable to her, and she'd nearly bled out. Her only saving grace was Jacob. She didn't know what happened after she called him, but she knew he would take care of her. In those last moments, she'd been scared to die. She didn't want to leave everything behind so quickly. She hadn't been sure why she felt this way, but she had this growing sensation—like a door was opening for her. Like she was needed, like she needed someone. The pieces were inching toward each other—they were still far, but they were getting closer. It would take her time.

This realization sobered her, and she looked around the stark, sterile room of the hospital. She was alone, and she found the slow, steady beep next to her oddly peaceful. She glanced at the heart monitor, saw the average spike of her heart beat, and felt her eyes water. She wasn't sure what this feeling was, but it was a cousin of regret. She felt like she'd missed so much. Like she'd never truly come back since that disastrous birthday. Now she just felt empty, as if she was truly hollow. Everything within her had been scooped out. She was a shell, and nothing more.

She felt this strange surge of emotions. She wanted to change. To get better. To fix herself. She didn't know how she would do it, or who would help her, but for just a moment, in the bleak room, her future looked bright. She saw a flash of something—a career, children, normalcy, laughter…but then it disappeared. Slipped away. Just like everything else had.

She settled into herself then, not moving for fear of hurting herself, but calming. The tidal wave within her dulled to a simple roar in the back of her mind, and she felt like she was stuck between awareness and sleep as she just stared at the ceiling.

Hours seemed to pass her by. She continued to stare upwards, her only movement being to blink. The calm feeling remained, as long as she stayed still and didn't think. She felt at peace in this moment, and she didn't want it to end. She didn't want the emptiness to come back. She was tired of it. So tired.

The door opened, and the sound seemed magnified in the stillness of the room. She instinctively closed her eyes and chose to feign sleep. There were two voices just outside the open door, and they hadn't come in yet. She recognized one, though she couldn't place who it was.

"No one can know. And you understand why, right?"

"Yes, sir, of course. I understand."

"Thank you. Is she okay?"

"She's stable now. We don't usually allow visitors for another fifteen minutes…"

"It's important."

"Okay. I'll go."

"Thanks again."

There were footsteps, which grew softer as they went down the hall. A few moments after they disappeared, she heard a small sigh and the person she recognized came closer. There was the breath of a chair next to her as he sat, and there was a warm air about him. She felt better, though odd. He said nothing, and as the room grew calm again, she could hear his breathing. She matched it.

She debated opening her eyes. Who was that voice? She knew it, which was odd, because she paid little attention to anything nowadays. Except for…now she knew the voice. She slowly blinked her eyes open.

He wasn't looking at her, but at the blank television screen across the room. She had a feeling that he didn't actually want it on, but she felt odd just looking at him, and she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"You can turn it on," she began, and he jumped and whirled at her voice. She grew quiet, "…if you want."

He stared at her a moment, seeming shocked by the fact that she'd spoken. He stuttered after that, "W—what? N—no, thank you."

She looked away and licked her lips, feeling nervous now that he was looking at her. She shrugged. "Okay."

They lapsed into silence, and she could tell he was trying to think of what to say. She took the liberty of speaking. "What are you doing here, Spencer?"

He didn't look at her, but instead fixated himself on a spot on the hospital blanket. He watched a loose thread wiggle in the small amount of cool air coming from the vent across the room. He tried to think of an answer, but couldn't come up with anything but the truth.

"I heard about what happened to you…" he paused, but gave her a more specific answer, "about what you did to yourself." She heard the tension in his voice, like ice, and she sensed that he was frustrated. She didn't know how she knew, but she watched the tightness in his movements as he shifted in the chair, facing her fully, but still refusing to look into her eyes. She tried to think about what he was saying, why he was mad, but her brain didn't want to cooperate with her efforts of understanding.

"Why are you mad at me?" in that moment, both of them heard the childlike honesty, coupled with the vulnerable quaver of her voice. His expression softened and he sighed again, and she felt tears come to her eyes. She wasn't sure why—she wasn't sure she wanted to know why—but she didn't want him to be mad at her. She wanted him to like her, even though she couldn't like herself.

"I'm not," he replied, trying not to think about how she seemed to realize immediately that he was in a foul mood. The thing was, he was angry…he wanted to be angry at her, for doing this to herself…but he couldn't be. He didn't know why, and that only made him all the more frustrated. Everything was beginning to get too confusing when it came to her, and he just wanted a straight story. What were these feelings? What was haunting her like this? What was going on between the two of them? Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

He tried to quell his thoughts to a manageable level as she spoke. "I can tell you are. I don't know how, but I can. Please don't be." He detected honesty in her voice, and a wave of understanding, of camaraderie washed over him. She knew how he was feeling, was strangely tuned to him as he was to her. To this day it bugged him that he sensed things—saw things—that Derek, just as trained as he was, did not. It was getting to her too. Now he felt more like they had a common enemy, as opposed to her _being_ the enemy. They just had to figure it out.

This made him feel slightly lighter, slightly more attached to her. Secretly, he'd acknowledged the small crush he had on her, but this was something different, something he didn't want to get tangled up in. Trying not to breathe a too-noticeable sigh of relief, he merely nodded to her, for lack of any other response.

"I'm not…not at you," he replied in a calmer voice, leaning toward her. He wanted to be closer, and he found himself acknowledging that more than he had before. He didn't like it, but he felt powerless. He rested his elbows on the hospital bed, looking down for a moment. He realized just then that he'd barely talked to Bella, and that these things he was thinking about were ridiculous. What had happened to him, and that control over his life that he'd had and he'd liked?

"Then what are you mad at?" There was something, in this moment, that he felt—like his insides were lifting, shifting, rolling. Her eyes were closing, slowly, and he wasn't sure how to take that. He paused for a few moments, trying to clear his head.

The door opened, and everything stopped. His heart skipped a beat, and he looked over, as if he'd just woken from a dream. A nurse walked in, and checked Bella's pulse. He noticed then, that she'd fallen asleep.

"We were just talking," he told the nurse, gesturing to Bella. Why had she fallen asleep so fast? Was something wrong?

The nurse smiled and shook her head. "She's still a little…tipsy, I'm sure. No worries, she'll be back up soon enough." She continued with her duties and left before Spencer noticed. Bella had been, for lack of a better word, high, as she spoke to him.

He flopped back in his chair, crossing his arms, pursing his lips, and shaking his head at the sleeping girl before him. He felt his once 'floating' insides drop again, and he felt weighted. She rolled just slightly in her sleep.

_It figures._

And with that thought, he waited for her to wake up again.

_**See what I mean? It's just…it doesn't have the impact I was going for. But I hope it's not completely terrible…love you all! :***_


	8. Important Author's Note

_**Howdy ya'll…I'm gonna be honest, I know Authors Notes like this are terrible, and technically against the rules, but I need you to go to my page really quick. I'll explain my really long absence (longer than usual…) there. I promise, I'm not looking for sympathy or pity or anything. So if you could refrain from reviewing on this one—I mean, if you really wanna talk, by all means, but you know what I'm driving at, right? I don't want you to think I'm shooting for sympathy reviews.**_

_**Anyway, I'm gonna write that up and all shall be posted soon. I'm sorry for your continuous wait. :D**_


End file.
